jumped; since, I had been settled on that cordwood like
Robinson Crusoe on his desert island. I had to get down some time; I
might as well start.

I gripped the letter, slid to the ground, and ran toward the big gate
straight before me. I climbed it, clutched the note again, and ran
blindly down the road through the forest toward the creek. I could
hurry there. On either side of it I could not have run ten steps at a
time. The big trees reached so high above me it seemed as if they
would push through the floor of Heaven. I tried to shut my ears and
run so fast I couldn't hear a sound, and so going, I soon came to the
creek bank. There I turned to my right and went slower, watching for
the pawpaw thicket. On leaving the road I thought I would have to
crawl over logs and make my way; but there seemed to be kind of a path
not very plain, but travelled enough to follow. It led straight to the
thicket. At the edge I stopped to look for the beech. It could be
reached in one breathless dash, but there seemed to be a green
enclosure, so I walked around until I found an entrance. Once there I
was so amazed I stood and stared. I was half indignant too.

Laddie hadn't done a thing but make an exact copy of my playhouse under
the biggest maiden's-blush in our orchard. He used the immense beech
for one corner, where I had the apple tree. His Magic Carpet was
woolly-dog moss, and all the magic about it, was that on the damp woods
floor, in the deep shade, the moss had taken root and was growing as if
it always had been there. He had been able to cut and stick much
larger willow sprouts for his walls than I could, and in the wet black
mould they didn't look as if they ever had wilted. They were so fresh
and green, no doubt they had taken root and were growing. Where I had
a low bench under my tree, he had used a log; but he had hewed the top
flat, and made a moss cover. In each corner he had set a fern as high
as my head. On either side of the entrance he had planted a cluster of
cardinal flower that was in full bloom, and around the walls in a few
places thrifty bunches of Oswego tea and foxfire, that I would have
walked miles to secure for my wild garden under the Bartlett pear tree.
It was so beautiful it took my breath away.

"If the Queen's daughter doesn't like this," I said softly, "she'll
have to go to Heaven before she finds anything better, for there can't
be another place on earth so pretty."

It wa